the only light showing being that in the fanlight over the
door.

My approaching taxi was being watched for, I suppose, for as I crossed
the gravel the door fell back, and a smart, middle-aged man-servant
admitted me.

"I want to see Mr. Marlowe," I said.

"Are you Mr. Biddulph?" he inquired, eyeing me with some suspicion.

I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he invited me to step
upstairs, while I followed him up the wide, well-carpeted staircase
and along a corridor on the first floor into a small sitting-room at
the rear of the house.

"Mr. Marlowe will be here in a few moments, sir," he said; "he left a
message asking you to wait. He and Mr. Forbes have just gone across
the road to a friend's house. I'll send over and tell him you are
here, if you'll kindly take a seat."

The room was small, fairly well furnished, but old-fashioned, and lit
by an oil-lamp upon the table. The air was heavy with tobacco-smoke,
and near the window was a card-table whereat four players had been
seated. The cigar-ash bore testimony to recent occupation of the four
chairs, while two packs of cards had been flung down just as the men
had risen.

The window was hidden by long curtains of heavy moss-green plush,
while in one corner of the room, upon a black marble pedestal, stood a
beautiful sculptured statuette of a girl, her hands uplifted together
above her head in the act of diving. I examined the exquisite work of
art, and saw upon its brass plate the name of an eminent French
sculptor.

The carpet, of a peculiar shade of red which contrasted well with the
dead-white enamelled walls, was soft to the tread, so that my
footsteps fell noiselessly as I moved.

Beside the fireplace was a big inviting saddle-bag chair, into which I
presently sank, awaiting Jack.

Who were his friends, I wondered?

The house seemed silent as the grave. I listened for Jack's footsteps,
but could hear nothing.

I was hoping that the loss of nearly a thousand pounds would cure my
friend of his gambling propensities. Myself, I had never experienced a
desire to gamble. A sovereign or so on a race was the extent of my
adventures.

The table, the cards, the tantalus-stand and the empty glasses told
their own tale. I was sorry, truly sorry, that Jack should mix with
such people--professional gamblers, without a doubt.

Every man-about-town in London knows what a crowd of professional
players and blackmailers infest the big hotels, on the look-